Until we meet again!
by Eavenne
Summary: The years pass and the seasons shift – yet Francis appears before me, again and again.


It began as a summer fling, and nothing more.

I met him beside a clear lake on a hot summer day. The sun had reached the apex of its daily arc; its rays cheerfully kissed my skin. My white dress fluttered in the warm breeze as he walked closer, and I squinted, trying to get a better look at him through the sunlight.

"Mademoiselle," Francis greeted me, his eyes twinkling mischievously. Removing an imaginary hat from his head with an elegant flourish, he bowed to me, and I laughed.

"What's your name, monsieur?" I asked, closing the distance between us. Extending a hand to see if he'd kiss it, I looked him up and down. Francis was a handsome man, with a good taste in clothes and brilliantly blue eyes. I now knew that his features were stuck in time – had the maidens of the past found that face as attractive as I once did?

Raising my hand to his lips, Francis kissed it tenderly. "Francis Bonnefoy at your service, mademoiselle."

We spent three happy days together, walking around the town in the afternoons and making love in the short summer nights. It was a lovely place, a small, self-contained area in French Jura where I'd gone for a short holiday. The lake was picturesque, but I'd bored of it in a few days; yet Francis seemed to breathe life into the warm air, and I was soon discovering the beauty in even the earth beneath our feet.

When we parted, it was with the expectation that we would never see each other again. Being with Francis was fun, but I had my real life to return to, back home in glittering Paris. The countryside was quaint, but I couldn't remain there forever.

Neither of us asked for a way to contact the other, and so I left Francis, thinking that would be the end of it.

That wasn't the case.

I met him beside Canal St Martin on a cool spring day. Six years had passed, and our meeting in Jura had become a fond memory and nothing more.

If Francis had been an ordinary man, I'm certain I wouldn't have recognised him. But he wasn't just any other man, and so my eye was drawn helplessly to him once more.

Surprised, I called out to him, watching as he turned to look my way. Francis' eyes widened in recognition, and he walked over to join me.

"Oh, it's so good to see you again! Why are you in Paris?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Ah, well, Paris is my heart! How have you been?"

"Good, though I think I've put on some weight recently. You look exactly the same. How lucky!" I said, oblivious.

"Hmm…some would call it good fortune, and others say it's a curse. But, mademoiselle, you must tell me. Are you free tonight?" A familiar sparkle livened Francis' expression, accompanied by a charming smile; I offered him my hand, and he kissed it once again.

That day, we slept together on my bed. After the lovemaking, I fell asleep and woke to find him gone. A note told me that he had to leave on urgent business – I thought nothing of it, and as the days passed I forgot about him once more.

Yet, he appeared before me once again.

I met him beside the Medici Fountain on a chilly autumn afternoon. Twenty years had come and gone, stealing my vitality as it went. A man who'd said he loved me left for someone younger and more beautiful, leaving me alone to sweep the fallen leaves he'd carelessly scattered in his wake.

This time, Francis was the one who spotted me. Jogging over, he called my name cheerfully – his voice sliced through the still air and I flinched. When I turned to face him, I found that he still had the same face, untouched by the rot of time or the scars of tears. I had to look away.

Francis picked up on my feelings, and his brow creased with concern. Reaching out cautiously, he kissed my hand with that same tenderness, and slowly released it.

"What's wrong, madame?" he asked softly.

I laughed. "Nothing's wrong, young man. Nothing you need to worry about."

Francis moved closer. "You can tell me anything, you know. I have time."

"Ah – time, which you seem to have stopped." Narrowing my eyes, I scrutinised his face. "You haven't changed a bit, you know? It's unfair. Tell me, how do you do it? If you shared your secret, maybe I could go back to being the girl you met by a lake one summer's day."

A look of understanding flitted across Francis' features, and his expression softened with sympathy.

"I'm sorry," he said, and explained everything to me. Even though it seemed utterly ridiculous, I found myself believing him. It was like learning that the sky was blue for the first time – one simply accepted it, as it just _was_. There had always been something otherworldly about Francis that I'd been aware of, and that now made sense. It was what it was, and so I didn't question his words.

"And that's why I don't age," he said, clasping his hands together in finality.

"I see," I said, folding my arms, "so that means you've met many people, doesn't it?"

"Yes. Do you want to know more about them?" he asked, watching me intently.

"Just tell me this. Why are some men so faithless? Why would a husband cheat on his wife? Why can't they – why can't he see how much I loved him? Tell me, France! Why can people be so cruel? I want to know!" My face ached, and I couldn't breathe.

He wiped the tears from my eyes with a gentle hand. "I don't have an answer for you, my dear. There are some things that can never be understood. But I want you to know," he said, tucking a loose strand of my hair behind my ear, "that you are a beautiful woman, and nothing will ever change that."

I laughed shakily. "You don't have to flatter me."

"But it's the truth."

We returned to his apartment, and made love on his bed. Afterward, I lay in his arms as he regaled me with tales of times long gone. It was intriguing, and for a little while I was able to forget about my troubles. All good things had to end, though, so I left at nightfall. While we did exchange contacts, we didn't reach out to one another, and it seemed like Francis would disappear from my life once and for all.

Naturally, that wasn't quite true.

I met him beside the bronze statue of Jeanne d'Arc on a windy winter evening. Three decades had crept by, wrinkling my skin and etching deep lines on my face. They were beautiful in a sense – they told of stories that only I knew, of memories good and bad – and they were evidence that I had lived.

Francis' skin was smooth and unmarred by time. Yet when he gazed up at Jeanne's shining figure, a strange look came into his eyes, and the air around me seemed to thrum with a low, insistent pulse. For a moment I could see her stand fiercely before me, and I watched as she thrust her battle standard into the air and cried Francis' true name. I blinked; the instant passed. Jeanne's beating heart was silent in its gleaming shell, but Francis stood there, listening intently to her voice in his memory.

"Monsieur Francis," I said, approaching him. Startled from his thoughts, Francis turned sharply to face me. As he recognised the girl he'd met in Jura one summer's day, Francis' expression relaxed, and he smiled.

"Ah, it's you. Greetings, madame. How have you been?" he asked, extending his palm for me to take. When I offered my hand, he kissed it once again in that same tender manner of my girlhood. The rest of the world saw a young man with an old woman, but I knew I was but a child compared to Francis, and so was everyone else at the Place de Pyramides that night.

I chuckled. "Well, I'm much happier now. I thought I'd never find love again, but here I am, married to a wonderful man."

"Ah, the flame of love. We never quite know when it strikes us. Congratulations on your marriage!" From the widening of his smile, I could see that Francis was genuinely happy for me.

"Thank you," I said. Then a thought flew into my mind. "Have you ever been in love, Francis?" I asked, watching him curiously.

An odd expression crossed Francis' face, blurring his features like the rippling images on a hot day; he turned to look up at Jeanne once again, and answered with a simple "yes".

Before I could say a word, Francis suddenly continued, "I saw her, you know? The other day, at Mont Saint-Michel. I couldn't believe my eyes."

Her?

My gaze slid from Francis to Jeanne. "But she's…"

Dead. Burned at the stake. I couldn't bring myself to say the words.

A low, soft laugh rumbled in Francis' throat, and he smiled wistfully.

"Sometimes, God does wonderful things," he said, giving Jeanne's statue one last long look before facing me once again.

"You'll have to excuse me, madame. The world never rests, and so I am always kept busy." Francis bowed smoothly, just like he'd done all those years ago.

"Goodbye, Francis," I said, raising my hand in parting.

The winter wind winded through the square, twisting my red scarf and tousling Francis' long hair. Only the bronze battle standard in Jeanne's cold hand was spared – it remained silent and still, untouched by the breath of Paris and the tarnish of time.

For the last time, Francis watched me with a friendly fondness; then, he turned to leave.

"Until we meet again!" he called, his voice floating through the wind.

And then he was gone.

* * *

 _This fic was inspired by the Beautiful World episode "A bientôt! Until we meet again", which should be no surprise. One of France's lines is taken directly from there. And, I guess I should apologise if I screwed up the geography of France, because I've never been there. I hope you enjoyed the fic, because I had a lot of fun writing it!_


End file.
